


073 - Drinking Games, Space Cakes, & Messy Catfish

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 04:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “cheeky drinking games with the lads?” “Please can you do one where you Van and Larry listen to music/have drinks etc. At their place?” and “Could you do a story where you and van eat pot brownies?”





	073 - Drinking Games, Space Cakes, & Messy Catfish

As you walk through the front door of your house and drop your bag on the side table, you flinch at how loud the music is. You cover your ears and walk to the lounge room. You quickly turn the stereo down and look at the scene. Larry is on the couch, his legs are up where his back should be, and he's looking at you upside down. Van is starfished out on the floor, eyes closed. He hasn't noticed the volume change. 

"Van," Larry says.

"Yessssssssss?" Van replies, the S sound coming out like a snake. When Larry doesn't speak again Van opens his eyes. He clocks you straight away and his mouth slowly turns into a smile. It reminds you of the sloth from Zootopia. "Babe!" he says happily, but still slowly.

"You ate the brownies, didn't you?"

"Are you mad?" Van asks. You shake your head.

"No. I'm sad you didn't wait for me though. I'll eat two to catch up," and you start to walk to the kitchen.

"No!" they both yell in unison.

"You don't need two," Larry tells you.

"They're that good?" you ask and they both nod.

You eat one. It's good. Most people complain about the off-flavour, but you've always just thought it tasted healthier or something. You bring glasses of water into the lounge room and lay down next to Van. He makes a weird face but doesn't move. You laugh.

"What are you doing?" you ask him.

"Tryin' to move," he replies and his voice is tragically sad. "Body's too heavy."

Space cake high is significantly different to smoking joints, or from pipes and bongs. It's thicker and more profound. It comes on quickly out of nowhere and you begin to understand why the music was so loud. It seems so far away. You use the last of your energy to roll into Van's side, and thread your fingers through his. He is warm and you want to cry at how full of love you feel. You consider the crying, and it somehow becomes a conscious decision. You decide not to because you don't want to ruin Van's shirt with melted mascara. The music keeps playing and every note sounds so good and you think maybe you're dancing but you're definitely not.

"When you have babies," Larry starts. He can talk at an almost normal pace, but he's always been a better stoner than Van like that. "They're gonna be so happy." You consider crying again and Van laughs. "And I'm, like, dead worried that I'll love them too much, you know?"

"I love Larry," you say but it's barely a whisper. Van hears though.

"Y/N says she loves you," he repeats louder for you.

"I love you, Y/N," Larry says.

"I love her more," Van says but he tries to say it too quickly and the syllables come out all jumbled up. You know what he means, and so does Larry. You nod like it's a fact, not a subjective judgement.

"Toast," Larry whispers and you watch him roll backwards off the couch and land on the floor with a thump. He crawls a few feet then stands and walks from the room. You look up at Van, who has his eyes closed and is smiling. His hand is tapping out the beat of the song on his thigh, but it's not in time. You can't tell that though. You close your eyes and let the heavy fog of the high take over.

…

When your eyes open you feel exhausted. Van is still under you, but the room is louder and busier. You sit up. The room has two couches that face each other, with a table between them. You're on the floor between the table and a couch, and on the couch sits Bondy and Bob. They look at you when you sit up. Bob laughs and takes another sip of his beer. Bondy shakes his head.

"Can't fucking handle your weed," he says. You look around. Benji is flicking through the record collection on the far wall. Between you, Van and Larry there are a lot. Larry is stretched out on the other couch, awake but clearly still a little bit cooked.

"They were so strong," you whisper and they all laugh. You look down. Van is dead to the world. You look up at Bondy. "Help," you say. He laughs and pulls you up onto the couch between him and Bob. You rest your head on his shoulder.

"Want a drink?" Bob asks. You nod and he gets up. They restart their conversation and you poke Van with your foot. Nothing. Bob returns and you thank him. Dope and booze are both depressants, and mixing them is never really a good idea, but somehow it defies science and wakes you up.

After another hour of Van passed out on the floor you poke at him again. You can see his chest rise and fall, so you're not worried. "Anyone else think we should fuck with him?" Benji asks. He's sitting on the floor against Larry's couch. He tilts his head and looks at Van. It's unanimous. You brainstorm and some very solid ideas emerge. First, Larry wants to shave off Van's sideburns. They all look to you for approval, and you shrug.

"I don't care," you say.

It happens and you're sure Van will wake up. He doesn't and Larry is losing his shit. He has to leave the room to laugh so he doesn't wake Van up. Next, the magic markers come out. Bondy draws all over Van's face and arms. You carefully lift his shirt up a little and carefully write out your name like a tattoo across his stomach. He still does not wake up. You collect all the empty beer bottles and put them around his sleeping frame, as if you're marking out a crime scene. Bob starts to take photos. You stand next to Benji and look down at Van.

"He's going cry about you not protecting him," he says. You shrug and smile.

"We need more," Bondy decides. He looks around the room while taking another swig. He gets up, leaves, and returns carrying two chairs. He puts them over Van's sleeping body, carefully avoiding the bottles. You split up and collect as many items as you can carry. Chairs, side tables, books, pots and pans, anything not stuck down gets stacked up and over Van. The more alcohol consumed, the higher the tower climbs. When you're done, you all sit back down.

"What happens if he wakes up suddenly and it, like, falls down on him?" Larry asks; the first person to express doubt or concern. You think about it then.

"Fuck," you say.

"Look, he's had it too easy. We're just giving him some trauma to write about," Benji laughs.

"It will be worse than that time you got hit by a car," you say to Larry.

"I almost died?" he says back. The worse that could happen to Van is some bruising.

…

It is rare just to have the band there and not have one missing, or someone else in attendance. You like it, and it feels like family. You are relaxed and calm and Bob's just changed the record over to Van Morrison. Like a spell broken, the hearing of his namesake wakes Van. You're the first to notice. His leg rolls upwards, somehow not knocking over any of the bottles. All you can see under the tower is one leg and one arm. He goes still, and it's not a sleepy still but a hyper alert still.

"Van?" you call out.

"What the fuck," he says. Everyone laughs and you have only a small feeling of guilt. You wash it away with another mouthful of beer. You all watch as he wriggles. Some of the beer bottles click against other items. Van comes to the realisation that the only way out is through destruction and the risk of pain. He isn't drunk and the effect of the weed has subsided. "Y/N?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can you go stand on the other side of the room for me?"

You get up and stand in the doorway and call out that you're there. Then he pushes through and chairs and bottles and books go flying in every direction. Things get knocked off the bookshelf behind him, and something shatters. You hope it's a bottle. Van sits up in the rubble unscathed. Nobody says anything at first, then Bondy leans in. Van looks up at him.

"Beer, mate?" Bondy asks and Van laughs. You bite your lip in love and go get him a drink. You hear him close the bathroom door.

"What the fuck!" he yells. "Who the fuck- Why-" You hear Larry losing it again. Van comes into the kitchen and takes the beer from your hand. He drinks half in one go, then shakes his head. You both smile, listening to Larry. His laugh is infectious and they all start to giggle. "You're meant to love me! Why would you let this happen?" Van whispers desperately.

"Blake said you'd say that," you reply. You go back to the lounge room. Benji has turned one of the chairs the right way up and is sitting on it. Van sits on Larry's legs and doesn't move when Larry kicks from under him. You watch them push and pull at each other before settling. You're back in your spot with Bondy, who wraps an arm around you.

"I think it's an improvement," Bondy says about Van’s new face. 

"A work of art," Bob adds.

…

When it starts to get dark outside you order pizza for them all. You know their orders by heart. As they eat you look around for pens and paper. You start to rip it into small strips. Van is watching you, but you can't look at him because he's not washed off any of the marker on his face. Every time you glance at him you laugh. It's distracting.

"Okay, so, the game is that you write down a sentence. Then, we take it in turns reading out a random sentence from the pile. If you can't read it with a straight face, you drink. So, when you write the sentences you have to try to make them funny or weird or whatever, so that nobody can read it," you explain. They're the perfect group of people to play the game with. They're too nice for it to turn nasty, but weird enough that the sentences will be good. You watch them write.

Everyone except Bob and Bondy drink first round. The second time only Bondy is saved. He has his pokerface perfected and it's incredible to watch. By the fourth round it's evident that you may as well all have skulled three beers each. The game becomes less about winning and more about reading the sentences out to each other. Van starts laughing and rolls into Larry's side and they become a bundle of giggles and you know you've lost them to each other for the rest of the night.

You bring them all water and the mood settles down. You change the record to British India's Controller and sit back down. Bob and Benji are kneeling at the table playing some sort of cards game. You watch for a minute and realise it's literally just Snap. Adorable. Van has melted into the couch and has his head on Larry's shoulder. They're watching something on Larry's phone, giggling to each other. Bondy has his head rolled back onto the couch and his eyes are closed. You hold his hand and do the same.

"All good, Y/N?" he asks. You're so, so fucking good, you don't even know where to start.


End file.
